


Catch Me a Catch

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for laurificus's prompt for her 706 Reunionating Comment-Fic Meme: Bobby hasn't forgotten what happened the last time Sam and Dean stopped talking. If getting them together again means he has to act like some old lady matchmaker in a god-awful romantic comedy, it still beats another apocalypse. This is a bit late, actually. Also, Bobby's not an old lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me a Catch

"Where's your brother?" Bobby sets down his mop and bucket and fixes Dean with a look. "What did you do with   
him?" He peers around Dean, but there's no Sam in sight.

Ignoring Bobby's question, Dean gestures at the cleaning supplies. "You working on a new career?"

"Well, someone had to mop up all that black goo. Don't change the subject. Where's Sam?" Bobby's got a bad feeling about this.

"He decided to walk." Dean's tone is short, and his words are clipped, and Bobby _really_ has a bad feeling about this.

"From Iowa?"

Dean shrugs and dumps his duffle bag in the corner.

"What did you do?" That's maybe not a fair question, but Bobby knows it's the one that'll get the quickest answer.

He expects Dean to get defensive, to ask why Bobby assumes _Dean_ is the one at fault, but all Dean says is, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, tough. Talk." Bobby folds his arms across his chest and gives Dean his best glare.

Again Dean surprises him by not glaring back. He goes straight for the whiskey bottle and pours himself a drink, not meeting Bobby's eyes. Swirling the cheap booze around, he just stares down at the glass like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

That there tells Bobby everything he needs to know. He waits, not very patiently, for the whole sad story to come out.

It doesn't take Dean long to crack.

"He's mad. I lied to him about something." Dean holds up a hand preemptively. "I don't want to talk about it, Bobby."

Bobby sighs. "And so he just decided to walk. To Montana. From Iowa. And you let him."

Dean sinks down onto the couch and picks up the remote control, aiming it at the TV. "There wasn't much I could do about it. I don't like it any more than you do, Bobby, but he need some…time." Dean gives Bobby a weak attempt at a smile. "He's got awesome hitchhiking skills." He peers at the TV, adding, "He should, he's used 'em enough times."

That's it, Bobby's heard enough. "Do you have any idea how monumentally stupid it is for you and your brother to split up like this? Every time you do that, the end of the world rears its ugly head. Get your ass back out there and find your brother and tell him you're sorry you hurt his princess feelings, or whatever you have to do, and get him back here."

Dean looks up at him, his eyes shadowed. "He's not my girlfriend, Bobby. I can't just buy him flowers and think he's going to come running back to me."

"Uh huh. Well –" Bobby breaks off whatever tirade he was going to go into next and blinks. Girlfriend? Now that conjures up a whole lot of stuff he may suspect but would rather stab his eyes out than know about.

He shakes it off. This is too important. "Okay, well, you sit there and watch TV while the world burns around you. Don't worry about the rest of us mere mortals." Bobby is _aggravated._

Dean just leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes.

This calls for drastic measures.

While Dean sits and stares blankly at the TV, Bobby goes out back to finish burying what's left of Chet the Leviathan's body. While he's out there, he pulls out his phone.

"Sam? Hey, just calling to see where you were? How're you doing?" He makes his tone as sympathetic as he can manage, hoping to encourage Sam to spill his guts.

"I'm fine, Bobby, really I am. I just needed a little space. Dean –" Sam breaks off. "Whatever, Bobby, I'll be back in a day or two. Don't worry about it."

Sam can be a closed-mouth bastard when he wants.

The world doesn't have a day or two, Bobby thinks. Plus, the kid's running around out there with Lucifer playing tennis in his head. "You know, kid, I get that you and your brother had a spat. But he's real sorry, and it'd be real nice if you'd get your ass back here."

"Did he even tell you what he did, Bobby?" Sam sounds more pissed than Bobby's heard him sound in a long time. He's got that aggrieved tone he used to get as a kid whenever John did something particularly bone-headed.

"Well, no, but I know he's sorry." Not noticeably, but Bobby knows Dean. He can't stand to have Sam mad at him. Bobby's doing them both a favor here, really, trying to get them to kiss and make up.

Poor choice of words. There his brain goes again with things he doesn't want to know about.

"He's always sorry, but he keeps doing stuff like this. He lied to me about something important, Bobby. I'm not his girlfriend, you know. I'm not gonna come running back –"

"Did he say why he lied?" Bobby interrupts. The less he hears about girlfriends, the happier he'll be. He feels like a cop trying to keep a suspect on the line as long as he can, but if he can get more information about what actually happened, he'll have a better chance of heading Armageddon II off at the pass.

"I didn't ask him. I don't care, Bobby. I'm sick of him always thinking he knows best all the time." Now Sam just sounds tired, and Bobby feels kind of bad. God knows Sam's got a point.

"Where are ya, kid?"

"Nice try, Bobby. I'm fine. I'll be back, don't worry." There's a pause, then Sam says, "Is he okay?"

Which gives Bobby an idea. He runs through the pros and cons real quick and decides the upside beats the downside. They'll probably be pissed as hell, but the fate of the world hangs in the balance here, resting on his ability to get these two chuckleheads back together again in the same car.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, sure, kid, Dean's okay. I mean, you know. Mostly."

"What? What's the matter with him?" Sam snorts. "Fatal hangover?"

Okay, Sam really is pissed. "No, ya idjit. Well, not yet, anyway. Um, it's his leg. It's been giving him some trouble, and he kind of fell down some stairs yesterday." Bobby rolls his eyes at himself. That's the best he could come up with?

Well, it was pretty off-the-cuff, and Sam seems to be buying it. "He fell? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Is he hurt?"

Bobby smiles to himself. "The booze is numbing the pain. Don't worry about it. You've got your own stuff, he'll be fine. The new cast won't be on for more'n a month or two, I reckon."

Bobby listens to Sam breathe for a minute, and then, satisfied with how panicked it sounds, he says, "Well, I gotta run. Your brother's hollering for something to eat. Better get them beans cooking."

Bobby hits _end_ and chuckles. One down, one to go.

When he goes back inside, Dean's still sitting like a lump on the couch. Bobby shakes his head. Maybe this'll get his ass moving.

"Hey, Dean. I was just on the phone with that brother of yours." He waits for Dean to take the bait.

"Yeah?" Dean jerks his head around to look at Bobby and then tries to pretend he didn't.

"Yeah. Seems he's run into a spot of trouble." Bobby sets the hook.

"What kind of trouble?" Dean stares at Bobby, real fear in his eyes, although he's still trying to play it all nonchalant.

Bobby decided on his walk back into the cabin that he couldn't go with hallucinations for this. That was too big a deal to play around with. Dean really would kill him for that.

"Car trouble, mostly. Well, car trouble in the sense that whatever car he liberated to joyride around in ended up at the bottom of a lake. Sam's okay, though, just the broken arm and collarbone, is all." He looks innocently at Dean from under the bill of his hat. Hook, line and sinker.

"What? Bobby –" Dean gets to his feet, the damned TV finally forgotten. Patting his pockets frantically, Dean extracts the keys to the old junker he's been driving since he'd hidden the Impala safely away from the law. "I need to go get him."

"He didn't exactly tell me where he was," Bobby sighs. This would all be a hell of a lot easier if Sam had been a little more forthcoming with his whereabouts. "But I got a feeling he'll he heading back this direction soon enough."

"Like Sam's gonna let a little thing like a broken arm or busted collarbone keep him from doing something stupid," Dean says, fuming. He's got his keys in his hand, standing indecisively in the middle of the cabin. "Goddammit, Sam," he finally sighs.

Bobby hides his smile as he turns toward the kitchen. "I'll rustle us up some grub," he says.

Dean doesn't answer him, being too distracted with worrying about his damn fool brother. Well, if Bobby knows his Winchesters, Sam oughta be showing up sometime tomorrow.

It's a long night, with Dean finally falling into a restless sleep after polishing off half a bottle of Jack.

Bobby hopes Sam hurries up. He can practically feel whatever evil forces left in the universe that are still powerful enough to end the world gathering around him, not to mention a worried Dean is pretty damned annoying to spend much time with.

Not that Bobby's had a lot of experience with that, or anything.

Sure enough, Sam shows up around noon on the following day. Tires skid on the gravel in front of Rufus's cabin, and Bobby hears a car door slam.

He knows it's time for a strategic retreat, so he edges toward the back bedroom. Dean obviously heard the car pull in, too, and is up and moving toward the door.

He pulls it open at the same time Sam bursts through it, and for a minute Bobby thinks they're going to end up with broken bones after all.

Dean stares at Sam's obviously unbroken arm and Sam stares at Dean's obviously cast-free leg.

"Sammy? Are you okay? I thought –" Dean turns to look at Bobby, who's standing in the bedroom doorway, smirking at them.

"Dean? Bobby said you –" And Sam turns to look at him, too.

Bobby shrugs. "Hey, if you two morons wanna risk bringing on the end of the world by fighting like a couple of little kids, don't expect me to stand around and watch it happen."

"You lied to us? You made it all up?" Dean turns to Sam and places his hand on his chest, fingertips probing gently. "I take it your collarbone isn't broken, either?"

"Uh, no," Sam says. "Not hardly. Your leg's not broken?"

"Nope," Dean answers grimly.

Bobby decides it's time to give them a little privacy so they can iron out whatever drama that's got their panties all in a twist this time.

Also, he has no desire to hear any talk of girlfriends.


End file.
